Angel of Caelum
by ourfreewill
Summary: My name is Castiel Milton, and I am the city's guardian angel. I protect my city of Caelum from the corruption and evil that is spreading like a plague... But this isn't the story I'm going to tell. This is the story of how it all went wrong... Destiel/Michifer superhero AU
1. i to anyone watching

Hello,

Is that too formal? This is a serious video, but I don't find myself to be a serious person, although Dean would probably disagree - would have disagreed. I don't really know how to say this, so I'll tell you a story. My story.

My name is Castiel Milton and I am the city's guardian angel.


	2. ii Prologue

It all started when I was seven. After the death of my mother - cliché, yes. She was killed by the greatest serial killer the world has ever seen. Cancer. That's not the reason I became a vigilante - I do hate that word - though. If I wanted to kill the thing that killed my mother, I would have stayed in medical school. But she's the reason I'm an angel - not literally, I am definitely going to hell for what I have done - I mean the city's angel.

My mother loved angels. She loved them so much, her lovely sons got angel names. They start off normal with Michael, my oldest brother. Half the population is probably called Michael. Next is me, Castiel. Seriously, what was she thinking? It gets worse - Samandriel. Yes, the youngest got the worst. Who knows, if she hadn't have died we might have had a Dananmandiriel. She used to tell us stories about our namesakes. Michael, the all powerful archangel, warrior of Heaven. Castiel, not so exciting, some guy's guardian angel. Unfortunately, Samandriel never got to meet her properly, having been about two at the time of her death. This handed the job to myself and Michael. Short story: we took the piss. We told him his name meant the angel of wood. Which sent teenage us into laughter and giggles - manly giggles of course.

A few years later when l was thirteen, Michael was attacked. The one person I looked up to, because heaven knows after my mother passed my dad wasn't a viable option. Michael was eighteen. Three men followed him home from work one night and dragged him into some dingy dark alley. They left him beaten, mugged, and raped. No one found him until morning, and by then he had lost so much blood it was touch and go, hit or miss, some other analogies. But he did pull through. His physical injuries hurt and healed. Mentally - not so much. I was thirteen and not observant by any means, but even I could see his signs of depression. I'm not even sure I knew what depression was, but after the orange prescription bottles began filling the cabinet I soon became acquainted. However, what I did know is that this brother was not the same one I used to look up to.

And that's how I became obsessed with angels - and I mean how can you not? They're fierce brave warriors. Courage at thirteen is definitely something I lacked. I'd run home everyday, defenceless against bullies who did not share my mother's or my passion for angels or their names. This continued right the through high school. One day they got a little bit rough - okay a lot rough. I came home blood dripping down my face like an apocalyptic waterfall, and ran upstairs to hide from Michael to stop him having a panic attack - for about twenty minutes. Here's a tip, don't hide in your shared bedroom. After hours of just sitting on the floor, Michael's head on my shoulder, he decided that I should come to his self defence class - one of the only places he left the house for.

Our dad fucked off around this time, taking Samandriel with him. Apparently, mom's death was just too hard on him. But, if I'm being honest, I think he just gave up. Gave up on us. Gave up on actually having to give a shit. Oh great, I'm a criminal with daddy issue - how even more cliche.

I'll tell you now, I gave up easily. I was like a cat that if you tease for too long just walks off swaggering a 'fuck you'. But I could tell Michael needed to know that I would be safe. So I went every week until I was the master of the basic self defence class, donning my sweatpants and old, and frankly, stained T-shirt.

A year later I was a charming sixteen-year-old, and patiently waiting for my brother who was talking to the instructor - Luce. That's his name. Odd, but Castiel can't exactly talk. But Michael can, all night long. They were planning to go out for an actual date. Michael discussing leaving the house had me doing a double take. It was going to be lunch in a crowded - but not too crowded - cafe, that Luce picked out.

A few days later, I managed to drag my moody sixteen-year-old self from the confines of my room to the gym where Luce taught. I naturally thought I should let him know what he was getting into with Michael - like the good little brother I am - I mean I was. Anyway, when I got there, I saw the most fantastic thing - Luce training. Yeah, his body was nice and everything - by fourteen every ounce of heterosexuality I thought I had was thrown out of the window - but the moves he was doing was something you'd see in those overly exaggerated action films - AKA Ninja style. I don't know how long I stared but I regret to admit I arrived at four and finally talked to him at half past. The first words out of my mouth were 'teach me' and his were 'no way'. After incessant moaning, and then some blackmail involving my brother - which I was not proud of, though in hindsight I have done a lot worse - he relented. He said four a.m. tomorrow, and showed me the door. I was somewhat shell shocked, and I didn't realise that he said four A.M. - A.M?! I could barely get up by seven.

But I did. I wanted to be the strong brother - not that Michael isn't, he was probably the strongest person I knew. The one who protected us from the evils of the world, and the more I talk I sound like seven-year-old me.

We trained until seven, and then another three hours after school. Apparently he liked having a protege. After three years under his wing - and I was getting pretty damn good, if I do say so myself - I went off to college, and then medical school to fulfil my seven-year-old dreams. Still training on nights with Luce when I could.

A year, give or take, into medical school I heard about my city being overrun with crime, and poverty like a disease. Drug Lords ruled the streets, and the kind of people who hurt Michael dominated the nights.

Luce had been keeping me updated with how Michael actually was because, heaven knows, you wouldn't have been able to get a straight answer out of him. At this time he wouldn't actually leave the house at all. He and Luce had been out for dinner, and some thugs had attempted an assault on them. Obviously, Luce took out the five guys - which was kind of difficult to explain to my brother, but somehow he understood. This didn't stop the shell that enclosed around him.

I became the city's guardian angel to stop the corruption and violence. Yeah, yeah, violence with violence - not the best logic I've put myself under - but people know there's someone looking out for them. But taking out small drug lords wasn't enough. I needed to aim higher and richer from which the corruption feeds from. So I did.

This is what happened...


	3. iii Chapter 3

I'll start at six months ago...

I was tracking a target: Clyde Roswell. He owns around 15 buildings and houses in Caelum, and all of them were dodgy as hell. Most were falling down because of corners cut in construction, others had faulty pipes and electricity that caused many to flood or catch fire. Worst of all he had never been held accountable for his actions. People had been killed, orphaned, widowed, and made homeless as well as thrown out onto the streets while he lives it up in his mansion on the other side of town looking down on the poverty, and still chose to turn his back and not care.

That's when I decided to pay him a visit.

After weeks of careful and strategic planning, I was finally ready. The problem was... I didn't know how. What would I say? What would I do? After 40 minutes in my full body mirror - yes in my suit, yes I'm ashamed - I was all set.

I set off at 10pm on a Tuesday, and he was definitely not expecting guests. I too were especially surprised to see the plural.

Honestly how could he stay in this "home" - yes, air quotes are necessary, it was more of an opera house. With a large gravelled path with tall autumn-browned trees on the edges leaning over, the massive dome that was situated over the entrance, and intimidatingly large solid oak doors.

I - obviously - didn't enter through the front doors. A window is more fitting for me, and I wish for once I could get break and someone would leave a window open. I guess that would be hashtag vigilante wishes. After I make my way through the window - artfully bumping my head on the window latch - I make my way through the oak doors to Roswell's study, only to find a very dead, and a very alive... I don't know, my head is screaming ninja. Assassin uniform was holding a dripping Roswell bloodied sword.

He glanced at me for a second, before swinging his sword towards me. Well shit, if it wasn't the most expected thing I've ever encountered - I watch a lot of TV, sue me. He swung, I dodged, he swung again. I dodged. What I didn't anticipate, was his next move.

I could hear the beat of my heart in my ears, and the sweat that dripped down the side of my face. Also, the perspiration of my armpits, because come on, it's kind of hard not to exert when climbing into an abnormally high two story window.

The masked ninja guy, or whatever, swung a chair that was previously sat in front of Clyde's desk, and knocked me off balance. I tried to swing back but he caught of my sword in my disorientation leaving me defenceless. I grabbed the back of the broken chair and blocked his advance. I took my sword back but it meant I was distracted, he swung his own sword, it caught the side of my stomach.

There were sirens in the background, I looked towards the window and then looked back and he'd gone.

I managed to make it out of the house, and I tried to navigate the way to my apartment. It was a struggle, and I almost made it. I was on top of one of the roof tops - well I couldn't exactly walk the streets can I - and when you're fighting blood loss it's probably not the smartest idea. I started to feel pretty dizzy, and I lost my footing and stumbled back of the building, falling onto some bin bags conveniently laid out by the local cafe. They smelt like fish, but I was grateful.

I lifted my head to surveil the area, I found a tall blond haired man looking down at me. He stared at me in confusion for a bit, but his face quickly changed into a smile and he broke out into a fit of laughter.

"Hey look, it's a fallen angel." He continued to stay in hysterics, while I groaned in pain, for around five minutes more. He eventually ceased his laughter, and offered me a hand.

"You have to admit, that was pretty funny." He said, I'm still pretty sure he had tears in his eyes. Said eyes must have noticed the stab wound, and wrapped his arms around my waist.

"I'm sure it's funnier in enochian."

"My car is around the corner," he said. I made a move to pull away from him, "do vigilantes really need to be worried about stranger danger? If anything you're the danger." He shrugged, "you're the one with the swords dude."

He had a point. I let him lead me to his car - luckily the street was fairly abandoned at this time. The streets - especially this area - of downtown at night was mostly frequented by prostitutes, drug addicts and criminals. I'd hope this is going to change now, but I don't intend on sticking around.

He drove through downtown to some crummy apartment building owned by some other scumbag of some descript, mostly likely. I was lead upstairs to the apartment. Honestly, it was falling down, leaking and I'm pretty there were more rats than bricks that made up the walls. I was dragged through the door, and slung down onto the sofa. He paused for a second, before rushing off to one of the rooms with a first aid kit. I say first aid kit, it was more like the thing you'd need aid after. It was a rusted toolkit. When I asked him about it he just shrugged.

While he was trying to kill me via wound cleaning it was oddly silent. Until he broke it with, "why don't you take off the mask?" Cue dramatic eyeroll. "Don't look at me like that. There's thousands of people in the city, I'm not likely to know you."

He had another point.

I slowly removed the mask, before ruffling up my hair. The encounter I had at clyde's mansion landed a few to my face, leaving huge bruising and cuts along the side of my face.

"Woah, you look like you got hit by a bus." He said with a disgusted expression.

"No bus. I only fell of a building." Wow, you don't have these conversations often.

"Oh yeah." He began to clean the wounds on my face.

"You know," he started, "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Dean."

"C...hris?" I was about to give my name but in any sight, whether it be plain or hind, that's probably not a good idea. You don't meet many Castiels these days... or any days... ever. But you do need millions of Chris'. Like there's an Evans, Hemsworth, Pine, Pratt, etc, etc...

He, Dean, laughed.

"Really? You don't sound so sure."

"Yes?"

"You sure you're sure?"

"No?" Around this point I wasn't actually sure I knew my own name. Concussions are not fun kids.

"Hey I get it," Dean started talking again, "the whole vigilante thing. Gotta keep your anonymity and everything. But answer me one thing, what's with the whole angel thing man."

He went on to analyse the iconic superheroes such as bat man, spider man, and some others that I'd never heard of. As much as I'd have loved to have watch superhero movies, I was a bit busy training to be a vigilante, then a doctor, then a vigilante again. And heaven knows you have no life, and I mean absolutely no life, no love when training to be a doctor. I shudder at the thought - I'm being ironic of course.

Dean was still going on about superheroes.

"I just don't get the whole angels thing. Bats I get, they're cool. Angels on the other hand, aren't they just fat naked dudes with wings."

I didn't really know what to say. I wasn't about to go into detail about my mommy issues with a stranger, but I was concussed and didn't really have anything better to say.

"You calling me fat?"

That sent him into another fit of laughter, he has- had, sorry. He had an easy sense of humour.


End file.
